


Mosaic

by Caprichoso



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 00:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caprichoso/pseuds/Caprichoso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adrien is a work of art, a stained glass window set high overhead to keep his admirers at a safe distance. After all, it wouldn't do for them to notice that those perfectly cut pieces are ready to shatter into hundreds of jagged shards. Nowhere, in or out of costume, is he allowed to show weakness... but the cracks keep growing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pencil

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this work deals with a mental condition that affects many people, including Adrien in this story. As it is told from his point of view, the condition is left unnamed until he learns that information for himself. Nevertheless, I've put it in the tags so that more sensitive readers can be forewarned. If you have concerns, please read the tags.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some problems are too big to carry alone. Adrien finds something he desperately needs, from an unexpected source.

"Kid, we need to talk."   
  
Adrien frowned, giving the shoulder strap of his bag a none-too-gentle tug, but stayed silent.   
  
"Kid, come on." Plagg jostled around in his canvas confinement, bumping against Adrien's leg. He was perfectly capable of phasing through it, but he stayed where he was; this couldn't be all that important if he was too lazy to escape. At least, that was enough of a justification for Adrien right now.    
  
He didn't want to deal with this, _couldn't_  deal with this. Not yet. He'd managed to ignore Plagg since last night, and it was already lunchtime now; in the grand scheme of things, what was another few days- or months? The kwami was bound to give up sometime.   
  
"Adrien, please." The use of his given name, coupled with the pained note in Plagg's voice, stopped Adrien mid-stride. "Just a couple minutes. That's all I'm asking. After that, I'll be quiet. Okay?"   
  
Jaw clenching, Adrien strode lead-limbed to the nearest tree, slumping to sit in its shade. It wasn't as though he needed to hurry home to eat; he doubted he could keep anything down with his stomach the way it was. "Fine," he snapped, tugging the flap of his bag up just enough for Plagg to peek out.    
  
Sure enough, Plagg popped up, green eyes meeting Adrien's for a moment before they shot to the ground. Tiny paws fiddled together, pointed ears pushed backwards. Adrien couldn't decide if it was comforting or concerning that his kwami was nearly as reluctant as he was to have this conversation. Finally, Plagg spoke, still not making eye contact. "Look, Kid, I've been doing this for a long, long time. I pick resourceful, self-sufficient kitties, and I keep my paws off for the most part. It works better for me, it works better for them. That said, there are times when even one of my kittens needs help, and it's my job to make sure they get that help."   
  
Adrien fidgeted, fighting the urge to tug the flap back down and walk away from his bag. This conversation was headed somewhere unpleasant, but Plagg was doing this because he genuinely cared; Adrien had had too few people like that in his life to turn his back on this one. "So what are you saying?" he said in the cautious, reserved tone he always used with his father.   
  
"Last night wasn't a one-time thing." Plagg began kneading the bag as he spoke, eyes pointedly not meeting Adrien's. "You got real quiet when I asked if they were getting better or worse, so I'd bet it's worse. I want to help, at least give you advice, but back when I last saw this thing, they didn't really have a name for it. I can't even give you a term to look up, and I don't know near enough to try to fix it myself." He paused, weighing his words. "I think it would help if you told someone. Maybe someone who knows about human behavior, or can at least help you figure out-"   
  
"No doctors," Adrien muttered, shaking his head. "No psychologists, no psychiatrists, no school counselors. I'm not risking my father or anyone else finding out because of a bill or something like that."   
  
Plagg opened his mouth to say something, thought for a moment, then tilted his head and nodded. "I'd prefer a professional, but okay. How about a friend?"   
  
Adrien's snort was bitter, humorless. "Let me flip through my impossibly long list of friends... let's see... okay, done. That was fast. Surprise: looks like there's a big fat nothing there. Other ideas?"   
  
The glare Plagg shot at Adrien could have dissolved steel; it was no wonder Cataclysm came from this little demigod. "If you seriously think you have no friends, maybe you _should_  go to a psychologist. But first you'd better stop by an optometrist, cause apparently you're also completely blind."   
  
Sighing, Adrien gave his companion an apologetic glance. "Sorry. I know I'm being dumb. I just... it's stupid and I'm broken and weak and there's no one I can show that to. I've never really been allowed to ask for help. Not with something like this. The only reason _you_  know now is because you were there when it happened."   
  
"Ladybug would help you. You know she would, no questions asked."   
  
Adrien's pained chuckle nearly brought tears to his eyes; blinking as he tilted his face skyward, he forced them back. "And once again, Ladybug saves her incompetent, helpless sidekick. I'm already useless enough to her; if she finds out about this, she'll pity me even more, and whatever tiny chance I still have with her will be completely gone."   
  
Plagg made an irritated sound. "Kid, that is _not_  how she-"   
  
"Not Ladybug. Please. Just... someone else. Anyone." Adrien closed his eyes and leaned his head against the tree, wishing more than anything that he could be normal, or at least that he weren't so hopelessly damaged as to require a demigod's intervention.   
  
"Okay." The kwami's tone turned thoughtful. "So. A friend who honestly cares about you, who you can trust to keep it a secret. The next time you get a chance to talk with a friend like that in private, you tell them. Deal?"   
  
Eyes still closed, Adrien let a wistful smile drift onto his face. "Deal." He'd have to resist the urge to avoid being alone with Nino; Plagg was right about asking for help, terrifying as the prospect was, and the sooner Adrien did it, the sooner he could figure out what was wrong with him and fix it.   
  
If it _could_  be fixed.   
  
As Adrien's mind ran scenarios for how to come clean to his friend, sorting potential dialogue options like an RPG, gentle footsteps approached, stopping just over a meter short of where he sat. "H-hey, Adrien," came a shaky voice punctuated with a squeak at the end.   
  
Adrien's eyes snapped open, and he turned his head to find Marinette standing there.   
  
"Sorry, sorry!" she exclaimed, waving her hands frantically. "I was just watching you- uh, not _watching_  watching, just looking like normal not-creepy people look at people, and I noticed that there was something different and maybe not good going on and thought maybe I could..." She trailed off, a little growl of frustration in the back of her throat. "Okay, start over! I just... thought... you might want some company." She blinked once, twice, before flying into a panic. "Unless you don't and you want to be alone because I can leave too!"   
  
Adrien chuckled softly. He'd long since grown accustomed to Marinette's flailing introductions; no matter how many times she talked with him, it always seemed to start that way. She'd calm down in a few minutes, once she forgot about his fame or his father or whatever it was that made her so afraid of him, and when she did, he'd have the Marinette who was one of his dearest friends- kind and caring with just a hint of sass. He'd be willing to endure an hour of her floundering each time, so long as he got to see the real her afterwards. "I appreciate it," he said, patting the grass beside him. "And you were right: different and not good is kind of how I'm feeling right now."   
  
"I wanna make you feel as good as you look!" Marinette blurted, then flushed bright red all the way to her chest. "I mean, if I can cheer you up, just tell me how! I'd do anything for you!" She squeaked, slapped her forehead, then tried again, mouth opening and closing silently like a koi, until she finally turned around and sank to the ground beside Adrien, back against the tree, his bag in between them. "Look, I'm a total klutz," she mumbled into her cupped hands, "But you're my friend and you're important to me. If you want to talk, we can. If not, that's okay too. And now I'm shutting up."   
  
With a fond smile, Adrien studied the girl beside him. She really was remarkable; it was a shame she couldn't see that fact the way others did. Fingers tapping against his knees, Adrien ran through the list he'd agreed on with Plagg: _friend, cares, can keep a secret_. There was no doubt in Adrien's mind that Marinette fit all three; he could tell her, _should_  tell her... but his mind went blank. How could he explain this, apart from _I think I'm going crazy and I don't know which kind of crazy I'm going_?   
  
Perfect. Smooth. Foolproof.   
  
Silence hung between them, cold and suffocating despite the spring weather. Adrien sighed, resigning himself to planning out a whole monologue later, sometime when his brain wasn't paralyzed by fear. Plagg would understand.   
  
Something dropped to the ground between them. Adrien looked over, blood freezing in his veins when he recognized what had fallen out of his bag. He was dead. And if he wasn't dead, that little rat of a kwami _was_  dead. There was no law against murdering demigods, right?   
  
Adrien's hand darted out to snatch the item from the ground, but Marinette's was faster, holding the yellow-flecked object up to inquisitive blue eyes. "This is... a pencil," she said, words coming slowly.   
  
"More like _was_  at this point," Adrien replied, trying to force some humor into his tone. He failed miserably.   
  
"And these are all tooth marks," Marinette continued. When Adrien nodded, she bit her lip. "Yours?"   
  
"I had a bad night," he croaked.   
  
"Do you wanna talk about it?" Gone was the stuttering, shy Marinette, and for once, Adrien wished she'd come back. This calm, collected, concerned Marinette seemed to peer all the way into his soul, examining things he himself was afraid to see. "You don't have to," she amended, "But if it would help... I'm here for you."   
  
With a gulp and a deep breath, Adrien stared at the pencil, now almost entirely brown, pink nub of the eraser no longer than a millimeter. Even the metal cap had been chewed to utter ruin. "I, uh, found out last night that my father has started grooming me to take over his company. He wants me to be in charge of a runway next month. All of it."   
  
Marinette's eyes lit up. She _dreamed_  of doing what Adrien had had forced on him; she couldn't possibly understand, and it was wrong of him to dump this on her. Wrong of him to see this gift as a burden, however much it crushed his chest and kept him from breathing. Adrien was prepared to drop the conversation and accept a wave of unwanted congratulations, but she paused, brow crinkling. "And that's not something you want," she said after a moment.   
  
"I know it's amazing, I know it's something I should be happy about." He ran a hand through his hair, tugging on the back in an attempt to focus. "Maybe some part of me is happy. I mean, my father is trusting me with something important. It's... I don't know how to explain."   
  
"You're worried," Marinette said, voice gentle. "Maybe if you start talking about why you're worried, it'll come."   
  
Adrien laughed at that, a bitter, choked laugh that made Marinette recoil, eyes wide. "Sorry," he managed, trying to calm his nerves enough to put his hysteria into words. "I just... it's big, y'know? I've been a model for years, but this is something completely different. There's so much I don't know, and a month is so little time, and there are so many things that can go wrong, but I can't say no, and I can't fail. I _can't_. Because this is the first time in my life he's trusted me with something that's actually important to him."   
  
Understanding bloomed in Marinette's eyes, a knowledge far beyond her years; Adrien caught a glimpse of someone familiar, a face that tugged at his memory though he couldn't quite place it. "Duty can be the heaviest thing in the world sometimes. Believe me, I know."   
  
Adrien's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" If she held that expression long enough, maybe he could figure out just who she reminded him of...   
  
Marinette blinked as though waking from a trance, and the spell was broken, whoever hid behind her eyes long gone. "Oh, I mean, just running my parents' bakery on my own for a day or two is a lot of responsibility, so I can kind of imagine how you feel. Just a little." The smile she gave him was forced, nervous. Was she afraid he'd be offended by comparing them?   
  
"I'd bet you'd do far better at this runway than I will," he said, hoping to smooth over any nerves. "I'd say let's switch, but I'd burn down the bakery just trying to make a single batch of cookies."   
  
The giggle that escaped from Marinette's mouth was bright, musical; Adrien made a note, not for the first time, to be a bit funnier around her, even if it meant visiting as his alter ego. Jokes came easier to Chat Noir than Adrien Agreste.    
  
The companionable silence between them lasted a good while, but the atmosphere shifted without warning, their lack of things to say suddenly forced. Adrien blinked in confusion, searching for the cause, until he followed Marinette's gaze to where it had fallen upon the pencil again.    
  
He swallowed hard. "So, um, anyway, after I got the big news, it was like I got hit with a really bad fever instantly. The lights were too bright, everything was too noisy and it seemed to be getting louder, I was sweaty and hot and cold, and I couldn't seem to get more than half a breath in my lungs. So I just kind of went on autopilot. I wandered into my room, turned off the lights, sat in the corner, and... umm..." He nodded to the pencil. "I had it in my hand when Nathalie told me, and I guess I took it with me. I didn't even realize what I was doing till it was... like it is now."   
  
"I see." Marinette gave a single slow nod.   
  
"Hey, on the bright side," Adrien said, forcing levity into his tone, "I had that pencil to take the hit for me. The last couple times this happened, I had nothing but my fingernails. I only snapped out of it when I tasted blood, and then I couldn't show my hands in photoshoots for almost a month, so both times my father grounded me till my fingernails... grew..." He bit his lip, a wave of shame and horror washing over him at his unwitting confession. "Uh, back. So yeah, bright side."   
  
Marinette was staring at him aghast. He never should have told her. Now she knew just how much of a freak he was. He'd ruined one of his best friendships, maybe more if she decided to tell anyone else.   
  
"Look, I'm sorry," he stammered, hands up in a universal placating gesture. "I shouldn't have said that, so maybe we can just forget-"   
  
"Your father _grounded_  you?" He'd never heard that low, deadly tone from Marinette before, not even when she was tearing into Chloe. It was, quite frankly, terrifying. But why was she mad, and why at his _father_?   
  
"No!" Adrien blurted. "Um, I mean, technically, sort of maybe? But I only told him what happened the first time, and I didn't really know how to explain it, so..." He shrugged. "My fault. Don't blame him, okay? He thought I was just doing it to get out of modeling."   
  
"Of course it's his fault!" Marinette hissed. Even now, at the height of her rage, she was being careful to be quiet; he owed her everything for that. "He should pay enough attention to his own son to realize when you've had a panic attack!"   
  
"It's not-" Adrien stopped, blinking more than he had at his first photoshoot. "Wait, what do you mean, panic attack? Those weren't panic attacks. I didn't cry or faint or anything like that."   
  
Marinette's expression softened. She opened her mouth to reply, paused, then pulled out her phone and began typing furiously.   
  
"Don't tell anyone! You can't tell _anyone_  about this," Adrien pleaded, rising to his knees and gripping her sleeve. He hadn't made her promise to keep this a secret. He'd been too caught off guard to make it that far, and now it was too late to do anything but beg. "I can't..." He trailed off, releasing her and fisting both hands in his hair. "Please."   
  
Marinette's hand, cool and small and soothing, came to rest stop one of his. "I'm not going to tell anyone," she reassured him. "I promise. I just want you to see something." With that, she took his hand in hers, placing her phone in it.   
  
Adrien stared at the screen, checking off the list one by one in his head. After a few seconds, he let out a sound that was an amalgamation of a sigh, a laugh, and a sob. "Oh look, it's me," he whispered, blinking back tears. He'd never expected to be relieved by finding he fit the symptoms on a medical website, but it felt like a massive weight had been lifted off of him.   
  
"And now that you know, we can start looking at ways to help you," Marinette said, now kneeling beside him. "There are tons of resources, and I'll help you sift through them."   
  
It was all Adrien could do to nod, eyes closed; if he spoke, his voice would crack. Carefully, almost reverently, he handed the phone back to her.   
  
"Knowing that you're having panic attacks doesn't fix the things that are causing them," Marinette said, a flicker of anger simmering in her eyes. "I wish I could do something about the causes, but this is the best that you and I can do together. Together, we can help you handle the attacks if they show up again. You're strong, Adrien, and I know you can do this, but I want you to remember you don't have to do this alone just because you're strong."   
  
"That's more than I ever expected to be able to do," Adrien choked out. "Thank you, Marinette."   
  
"Anytime." She shifted, an idea sparking. "Speaking of anytime, you can call me or send me a message whenever, even at 3 AM on a school night. Whether it's about this or not."   
  
Adrien's smile was shaky but genuine. "I'd like that." A thought occurred to him, and he raised a finger. "There's just one issue with that, though: I don't have your number."   
  
"It's okay," Marinette said, returning his smile. "I have your num-" She froze, face contorting. "Nummmmber that you will need to use to contact me because it is in fact _my_  phone number and _not_  anyone else's! And I can write it down for you... if you... uh, if you want?" The last words were barely-audible squeaks.   
  
Floundering Marinette was back. With a vengeance.   
  
Fishing in his bag and retrieving a suitable notebook, Adrien opened it and patted his pockets for a writing utensil. "I, uh..." His eyes fell upon the remains of the pencil. The lead wasn't sharp by any stretch, but it would do. He held it up with a grin, trying valiantly not to snort when Marinette slapped it out of his hand and dove to recover it before writing her number, painstakingly neat, on the inside cover of his notebook.    
  
"Okay, I have you now!" she squawked. "I mean, number now you have me!" One frustrated growl later, she managed a coherent sentence. "Call me!"   
  
"I will," Adrien said. "And... Marinette?"   
  
"Urr?" The girl in question looked utterly mortified, but somehow utterly adorable at the same time.   
  
Steeling his nerves, Adrien wrapped his arms around his friend. It was one of the first hugs he'd ever initiated, and he was worried she might not enjoy it, but he had to show her how grateful he was. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear.    
  
After a moment, he came to a horrible realization: she wasn't hugging back. Pulling his arms away as quickly as he could, he began stammering an apology, only to have the breath squeezed mercilessly from him as Marinette took to hugging him with a vengeance. Even if he swore he could feel his ribs creaking in protest (how was this tiny girl so strong?), he wrapped his arms back around her, warmth spreading through him.   
  
It was one of those moments that could last forever.   
  
Unfortunately, forever barely lasted fifteen seconds before a familiar ringing shattered it.   
  
"Late!" Marinette shrieked as she disentangled herself, falling over in an ungainly sprawl. It seemed she had forgotten they were still kneeling, not standing. Once she had righted herself, she glanced back and forth between Adrien and the steps to their school. "You, uh, okay?"   
  
Adrien gave her a little smile, closing his eyes slowly as he nodded. "I'll catch up."   
  
As his friend ran screaming into their school, Adrien let out a sigh far more pleasant than the ones to which he was accustomed. "Hey, Plagg?" he murmured, just loud enough for his companion to hear. "Good call."   
  
"Of course it was a good call," came a comfortingly dismissive voice. "By the way, I think some variety on top of my usual Camembert would help me keep making good calls. Shall we say, half a kilo of Roquefort?"   
  
Adrien laughed more freely than he had in days.


	2. A Slap in the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not enough for Adrien to dump his baggage on Marinette; Chat Noir has to have a brand new kind of meltdown right in front of Ladybug, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this one, the trauma isn't specified, but could potentially be construed as repressed memories of some physical abuse. Proceed accordingly.

"Hey, Chat?" Ladybug's voice was almost lost to the night air, but not quite.   
  
Chat Noir cocked his head, circling around toward where Ladybug had paused by a chimney. They'd been traveling the rooftops in a strangely tense silence for quite some time, Ladybug lost in her thoughts and Chat doing his best to give her time and not push her. He was a problem solver by nature; one word, and he would rush to fix whatever was troubling her. Still, she had yet to tell him what was wrong, and until she did, it was best for him to stay out of it. Curiosity and old sayings and all.   
  
Ladybug sat with her back against the chimney and stared into the distance as Chat approached, her lower lip disappearing and reappearing as she weighed her words. "Do you ever wish you could read minds?" she whispered once he was standing in front of her. Such a timid tone from such a remarkable girl; it was wrong.   
  
Forcing a chuckle, Chat plastered on a grin in hopes of cheering her up. "Oh, my lady, you know if you want to hear my thoughts, all you have to do is ask. I'll even waive the customary penny just for you."   
  
The smile she gave him was pained, but he caught a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes, or at least convinced himself he did. "Anime and horrible puns nonstop, I'm sure," she murmured halfheartedly.   
  
"Alas, you know me too well." Chat took a knee, bringing them eye to eye. "Since you don't need to read my mind, then, I'm guessing you have someone else in mind?" He paused, nose crinkling. "Pun not intended. If that was even a pun. Probably not, just... awkward wording."   
  
A snort came from the heroine; apparently all he had to do if he wanted to make her laugh was humiliate himself. "Careful, kitty: you're dangerously close to being as awkward as civilian me is."   
  
Now _that_  was a bizarre thought; Chat tried to imagine this brilliant young lady, clever and quick-witted, stumbling over her words. It tugged at some corner of his memory, a familiar face, but as he tried to reach for the image, it slipped away as if by magic. It probably was; Plagg had once made some comment about the masks not being the only thing protecting their identities, though as usual he'd refused to elaborate.   
  
"You're too quiet, chaton." Ladybug's voice snapped him from his thoughts and into the present, where she looked at him with worry in her eyes. "Please forget I said that; it's a big hint, probably too big." She dropped her head, staring between her feet. "Let's just say the real me is... disappointing, compared to your lady."   
  
Something twisted and shattered in Chat Noir's gut; it wasn't fair for her to feel the same insecurities as he did. He might deserve it, probably did, but not her. She deserved better. "My lady _is_  the real you," he said. As she looked up and opened her mouth to protest, he laid a gentle finger over her lips. "And so is that awkward girl. Both of them are real, and both are important, and I hope one day I get to meet that awkward girl and tell her to her face that she's wonderful too." He took a breath, waiting for her response, only to realize he was still touching her lips. Blushing, he pulled away with a stammered apology.   
  
A strange look crossed Ladybug's face, and she opened her mouth to say something, then frowned and shook her head. "Thank you, Chat." She paused, chin coming to rest on one knee. "And there is someone else I'm thinking of, yes. There's a... friend of mine. I found out recently he's going through some difficult things. I want to help, but things are... complicated."   
  
"Does he know you know?" Chat shifted to sit crosslegged.   
  
"Yeah, that's not where it gets complicated," she replied with a quick shake of her head. "He told me himself, and he's letting me help him. There are just... there are things I can help with, and things that are out of my control. Those, I know how to handle. But there are some things that are somewhere in between, and I'm not sure what I should do about them, or if I should do anything at all."   
  
Chat Noir's mouth twisted as he chewed his lip. Gray areas, untenable circumstances-- he knew far too much about those sorts of situations. "Can you tell me a little bit about those things?"   
  
"Not a lot without giving too much away." Ladybug tapped her fingers, one by one, against the knee not supporting her head. "What I can tell you is that one of the main causes of his problem is coming from his father."   
  
All the blood in Chat's heart turned to ice, expanding painfully in his chest. "Be very, very careful about stepping into family issues, bugaboo," Chat warned, trying to fight the chill before it made him shiver too noticeably. "More often than not, it only makes things worse. Trust me on that."   
  
Ladybug lifted her head to peer at him, an inquisitive look on her face, but she didn't ask, much to his gratitude. "His father doesn't understand," she said after a moment. "He sees part of the problem, but he doesn't realize what's actually going on."   
  
Chat sighed. "Fathers rarely do." Before the attention could shift back to him for that comment, he continued. "Have you met your friend's father?"   
  
"In... some form, yes."    
  
Chat's eyebrows rose. Not the most conventional answer. "So you don't know him well. From what you've seen of him, would he react well to an outsider's input on his family?"   
  
The hitch in Ladybug's breath, the sorrowful, desperate look on her face, was too much for Chat to bear. "But it's his _son_ ," she insisted. "He has to at least care."   
  
_Not always, my lady. Mine doesn't._  Forcing that thought aside, Chat pressed on. "Of course," he lied, fighting the guilty twist in his gut. "But let's think pragmatically here. If you explain the issue to your friend's father, how likely is it that he'll do something that makes the situation better?"   
  
She grimaced. "Not very likely, and I could end up making it worse. Maybe much worse."   
  
"And can you help your friend without going to his family about this problem?"   
  
"It's more treating the symptoms than the cause, but... yeah." Ladybug sighed, shaking her head with a rueful smile. "Well, I guess that answers that."   
  
Chat Noir rested his hand on Ladybug's shoulder. "Sometimes treating the symptoms is enough. As long as there's no immediate danger, I would say to play it safe, give it time, see if it gets better."   
  
The smile Ladybug gave him was shaky but genuine, and with it the weight of their conversation lessened. "Thanks, chaton," she murmured.   
  
"Any time, my lady," he said, standing up and offering a hand to his partner. "Your friend is lucky to have you."   
  
She took his hand and let herself be dragged up to her feet. "And I'm lucky to have you. You're quite the advice-giver."   
  
"I don't give advice so much as help people find what they already knew. I'm a big fan of the So- _cat_ -ic method," Chat replied, bowing enough to bring their faces just inches apart as he gave her a winning grin. "Ask questions till the answer shows up."   
  
Ladybug's long-suffering sigh, so different from the others that night, was a blessed return to their normal dynamic, lightening the atmosphere further. "No philosopher puns, please. Your normal ones are bad enough," she teased. As Chat opened up his mouth to defend himself, she gave his cheek a playful little slap. "No. Bad kitty. No philosopher puns."   
  
Chat froze, eyes wide as all rational thought vanished, leaving behind only the sensation of something welling up in his chest, his throat, his eyes. Before he realized it, tears were streaming down his face as he let out tiny, near-silent sobs. No matter how he fought for composure, no matter how he reminded himself that there was no reason to be crying, he couldn't stop himself.   
  
"Chat? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Ladybug's voice was tinged with panic; he was hurting her, scaring her. Of course she was scared. She had no way to know why he was crying if not even he knew.   
  
He struggled to reassure his lady, to form words, but nothing came out except a pitiful whine. Burying his face in his hands, he sank to the ground, curling up as much as possible. He couldn't do anything right, couldn't speak; what would he even say if he could?   
  
Ladybug knelt to Chat's level, babbling apologies. Through blurred vision he saw her hands start to reach for him, then stop, hovering in the air. She was afraid of hurting him.   
  
Though he would never have permitted himself in stronger moments, Chat leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his partner, the top of his head bumping against her stomach as he muffled his whimpering sobs with her leg. "Not... your... fault," he choked out, making an effort to emphasize the first word. It wasn't her fault he was so broken. But he was grateful beyond description that it was her; she was holding him, accepting him, not pushing him away and telling him to stop-- just letting him be broken. Gentle hands stroked through his hair, his companion's soothing, wordless whispers reassuring him.   
  
He hadn't cried in years. Crying was a luxury he'd never been allowed-- not as Adrien, and certainly never as his superhero persona. But for now, just this once, it was okay. And so Chat Noir cried for both of them.   
  
When the tears finally subsided, the saltwater and snot wiped from his face (though he couldn't do a thing about the trail he'd left on Ladybug's thigh), Chat sat up, blinking and sniffling as though he'd just awoken. "That was... a surprise," he croaked, forcing a weak smile.   
  
Ladybug looked down, fingers interlocking and releasing. "I'm sor--"   
  
"Nope, not your fault, I told you." Chat shook his head firmly. "I had no clue that could happen, so you're definitely off the hook too."   
  
Nodding, she glanced up at him. "Any idea why it did?"   
  
Chat paused, racking his brain for an answer, but came up with nothing. He couldn't even remember another time he'd been slapped in the face except on accident; maybe the key was the intention of punishment, of communicating disappointment? Whatever the case, it would take a while to sift through his head and figure out the mechanics of this particular problem. "I... honestly have no clue," he said after far too long of a pause.   
  
The look his lady gave him was worried, probing for deception, but upon finding none, she gave a slow nod. "All right. Well, now we know, and you'll never have to worry about me doing it again. That's all I can do, I guess."   
  
"Y'know, maybe I should have some warning signs made," Chat remarked, forcing another little smile. "Apparently my brain is a real _mind_ -field. One wrong step and I explode into tears."   
  
Sadness and guilt and a dozen other micro-expressions flitted across Ladybug's face, until finally she settled on a mildly incredulous smile. "If you're back to making puns that horrible, I suppose you're okay now."   
  
"As okay as ever," he agreed with a shrug, "Though that apparently isn't as okay as I thought, given my past couple weeks. Oh well; at least I'm spreading my neuroses around," he said with a self-effacing grin.   
  
"What do you mean?" Ladybug cocked her head and leaned in.   
  
"Eh, no biggie." Chat waved a clawed hand, back to his bantering tone. Banter was safe, familiar. He was already accustomed to hiding his normal feelings behind it; something a little bigger was no problem. "It's just that last week I sort of ended up spilling the beans to a friend of mine about another... endearing little _quirk_  like this."   
  
There was a pause; Ladybug chewed her lip for a moment, then nodded. "Well, it's good that you're opening up to people," she said. "You're strong, kitty, but being strong doesn't mean you always have to deal with it alone."   
  
Chat blinked, the words echoing strangely in his head. "She said something like that too. Almost the exact same wording, even."   
  
"Your friend knows what she's talking about, then," Ladybug said, a touch of humor in her smile. "You should listen to her."   
  
"Yeah," he replied, his smile finally turning to something genuine. "Who am I to argue with two of the most important ladies in my life? And now I have people to turn to if I end up needing a good cry or having another panic attack. Hopefully not too soon, of course, but--"   
  
"P-panic attack?" Blue eyes were wide with shock as they met green. Great; now she knew about those too and she'd _never_  stop worrying, all because his mouth worked faster than his brain.    
  
Wincing, Chat shrugged and shot her a sheepish grin. "Um, yeah?" Turning serious, he lifted his hands, palms out in a reassuring gesture. "Don't worry, bugaboo. I know what they are now, and I can deal with them. Mar-- uh, my _friend_  found some things to help me. I'd never let the panic attacks interfere with our duty or put you in danger, and I swear you don't have to worry about them. Okay?"   
  
Ladybug continued to stare, mouth slightly open, an indecipherable mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. Tears began to brim, and Chat was as powerless to stop them as he had been with his own. She was crying. His lady was _crying_  because of him.   
  
"Please don't," he whispered, reaching out to take her hands before thinking better of it and letting his arms drop back to his sides before they could complete their journey. "I can take hate, I can take disgust, I can even take indifference, but _please_  don't pity me."   
  
Before Chat could say anything further, Ladybug's arms were wrapped around him, squeezing tightly, almost as tightly as the only other person who had hugged him recently. "Oh, chaton," she whispered, voice firm despite the crack and rasp of tears, "This isn't pity. I'm worried about you, and I'm sad that you've been dealing with this all alone. But I don't pity you."   
  
"Don't worry about me, my lady," Chat said, stroking hair that had graced his dreams for years. Not for the first time, he wondered what it would feel like without his gloves. "I can take care of myself, you know. I'm just sorry you had to find out."   
  
Ladybug stiffened, pulling away to take Chat by the shoulders, her stare as firm and unyielding as her grip. "Rule number four, kitty. What is it?"   
  
"My lady, that doesn't--"   
  
"What. Is. Rule. Number. Four?" Her voice was harder than her yo-yo.   
  
Chat sighed. They had set very few absolute rules in their time together, but what few there were, they treated as sacred. It was a key part of their bond, one of the reasons they could trust one another implicitly in any situation. "Rule number four: no hiding injuries. But this isn't--"   
  
"You're hurt just the same as if you had cracked ribs or a sprained ankle," Ladybug shot back. "I know your instinct is to shrug it off so you don't worry people, but you need to break that habit. Right now. I don't care if you're used to being a picture-perfect model all the time; you are a human being, and humans are allowed to have problems."   
  
"Model?" He choked on the word, trying desperately not to betray just how close to home her word choice had hit.   
  
Ladybug blinked, seemingly confused as to why he was hung up on that particular word. After a moment, she shrugged. "...Yeah. You know, like an example for people to look up to? A role model? That kind of thing."   
  
Chat nearly let out a sigh of relief, restraining himself just in time. That would be as good as an admission of his civilian job. "Gotcha," he murmured, flashing a little grin. "I'll try to keep you posted on my... uh, mental health shenanigans. Speaking of which, would you mind terribly if we called it an early night? This has been a whole lot to process, and I feel like I need to take about a three-day catnap."   
  
"Sounds like a plan." Ladybug's answering smile was gentle. "A little reset should help things settle a bit. And remember, you can always call me, anytime. You have my number."   
  
Chat Noir waggled his eyebrows. "I don't know if I would call it a _number_ , per se, but I'll certainly call your yo-yo. Unless you'd like to give me an actual phone number?"   
  
"Of course!" Ladybug blurted, eyes wide, then shook her head, regaining composure. "I mean, of course I meant my yo-yo. Not that I wouldn't give you my phone number if we didn't have something that already worked; it's just--"   
  
"I understand, my lady." Chat winked to reassure her there were no hard feelings over her privacy concerns. "I don't have a pen at the moment anyway; no matter how much I try to convince him, my kwami just doesn't seem to understand the value of pockets."   
  
She giggled, and the sound lit up his world. "Mine either. I wonder if girls' jeans were designed by kwami too?"   
  
"Quite the conspiracy, bugaboo." He stroked his chin, feigning deep thought. "We'll have to investigate, bribe our kwami to blow the whistle on the dark side of the women's fashion industry. Maybe the kwami draw their power from handbags?"   
  
Ladybug let out a sputtering, snorting laugh, then clapped her hand over her mouth, utterly mortified. Chat, on the other hand, was enthralled. He'd never expected calm, collected Ladybug to crack up over a stupid purse joke, but if that's what it took for her to laugh so freely, he'd have to work on his repertoire of fashion humor. "Okay, time to go before I make another... whatever that sound was," she said, ears nearly matching her suit.   
  
"Adorable: that's what that sound was." Chat held his arms open, hoping his overture wasn't unwelcome. This hugging thing was new to him, but it was too wonderful to pass up an opportunity. "One more miraculous lady-hug for the road?"   
  
"Did you just..." Ladybug's stare of disbelief melted into a somewhat exasperated smile. "You know what? I'll let the pun slide this time, just this once, but only because I really like hugging you."   
  
At that moment, Hawkmoth could have turned the whole city into Akumas, and it would still count as one of the best days of Chat Noir's nine lives. His lady enjoyed hugging him! She admitted it, without him even asking! Without a second's hesitation, Chat gathered Ladybug into his arms, lifting her into the air and spinning around in elation.   
  
"Kitty!" Ladybug's squeal held no trace of fear, only surprise, and she made no move to escape, lapsing into a bout of giggles as he continued to whirl around. When he finally set her down, she crossed her arms, the effect of the scowl on her face utterly sabotaged by the mirthful crinkle at the sides of her eyes. "Well, Monsieur Chat Noir, I never! You know what this means, don't you?"   
  
"Not a clue, bugaboo," he teased. "Care to explain?"   
  
"It means," she said  leaning in conspiratorially, "That when we hug next, I am also allowed to spin _you_  around."   
  
"Oh, heavens, no!" Chat Noir pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, pantomiming a swoon. "Had I but known the dire consequences of my actions, I never would have..." He trailed off, grinning. "Nah, still worth it. Totally worth it." With that, he took her hand, bowing deeply, before bolting off across the rooftops, calling out a farewell over his shoulder. "I guess I'll see you _around_ , my lady!"   
  
Ladybug's playful growl was audible even over the wind rushing in his ears.


	3. Not a Drill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the pieces had to smash together eventually; it was inevitable. On the bright side, though, Adrien is getting some great practice dealing with these panic attacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: description of a panic attack as it occurs.

  
All in all, Adrien considered himself a simple, straightforward kind of boy. Posh upbringing notwithstanding, his wishes were mostly pretty basic. There were some pipe dreams, sure- Ladybug returning his affections, his father showing him any sort of approval, and so on- but the majority of the time, he would be perfectly fine with the universe doing him just a simple favor or two. Going a single week without a mental breakdown, for example, would be  _fantastic_.

Fantastic, and apparently impossible.

In hindsight, it had been a mistake to show Nino that Rick James sketch; he was the embodiment of monkey-see-monkey-do when it came to humor, as were most boys their age. Most boys their age weren't prone to bursting into tears with just a gentle tap to the jaw, either. Besides, Adrien should have recognized the impending punchline to _what did the five fingers say to the face?_   in plenty of time to dodge; he was a superhero, after all. Taken together, all of these facts led Adrien to a single, logical conclusion: this wasn't Nino's fault.

That was what Adrien kept repeating to himself as his best friend's palm grew ever larger in his field of vision.

This wasn't Nino's fault.

And hopefully he and Marinette would understand when Adrien inevitably burst into tears. This time there were two people to witness him falling to pieces; if he kept this up, soon he'd be ready to have a meltdown in front of their whole class.

Eyes squeezing shut as he flinched away from the impending play-slap, Adrien cursed Einstein and relativity; it was taking _forever_ for Nino's hand to travel those final centimeters. Granted, the quote about the hot stove and the hot girl probably wasn't actually from Einstein, but he was at least to blame for the principle. _One Champs-Élysées, two Champs-Élysées..._

Okay, something was definitely up. Adrien cracked one eye open, and was greeted by a sight he'd never have expected.

Marinette was holding Nino's wrist, concern written clear on her face as she glanced toward Adrien. Slowly, as though realizing she had let some vital secret slip, she released her grasp, expression morphing to one of horror. What could possibly have scared her so much, and why was she looking at _him_  like that? There was no way she could know what would have happened if Nino's slap had connected; only Ladybug had seen that, and only with Chat Noir. But that expression...

Adrien's blood froze solid, heart hammering in a vain attempt to keep it circulating.

There was no other explanation. She knew.

Marinette _knew_.

Which meant she knew who he was.

Which meant Ladybug knew too.

And Ladybug had told Marinette.

About _everything._

The last thought Adrien had before his body went on autopilot was, _I only brought pens today. I hope the ink isn't toxic._

He stammered out some apology or excuse, not quite sure if it was a coherent sentence or not, then started walking. Someone was calling out to him, but the words were garbled, devoid of meaning, and he couldn't respond anyway, so he kept going. Everything felt strange, each footstep jarring as he rode in the passenger seat of his own body. This couldn't happen to him right outside the school; there were too many people around, nowhere good to hide, no dark places. It was too bright everywhere, even the shadows.

A minute or two minutes or ten minutes later, Adrien was under the tree, staring at the juncture of the body and cap of his pen as he pulled it apart and pushed it back together, trying to maintain the presence of mind not to let either part end up between his clenching teeth. He had to focus his actions, keep a rhythm with something safe, until this blew over. Had he been in a more rational state, he might have found some dark satisfaction in the irony of having a panic attack because of Marinette in the very place he had told Marinette about his panic attacks; as it was, though, the situation was utterly lost on him. His world consisted of a black cap, a white tube, and a calming, familiar female voice in his mind.  _Push. Pull. Push. Pull. Don't chew. Push. Pull._

Plagg's voice swam around his head as well, the words too garbled to understand, but it ceased eventually. If anyone found him here, there was no way he could explain this away. Judging by Plagg, Adrien probably couldn't even understand speech right now, much less formulate a coherent response. He was a sitting duck here; it wasn't safe-

 _It's okay. Focus on the pen. Push. Pull._  Even now, the calming voice in his head was Marinette's. It wasn't fair.

 _Breathe, Adrien. Slow, deep breaths. With me: in, out._  Her voice sounded slightly different now, almost as if she were actually there with him.

A weight came to rest on his shoulder. There was no sensation, per se; in moments like these, there never was. Still, some objective part of him sensed the pressure, and he looked up into a blue that had come to comfort him even more than a cloudless sky. "Again," Marinette whispered, giving him a reassuring nod. "In." Her eyes closed, chest puffing up as she drew a slow, exaggerated breath, and his body mimicked hers. "Out." Her lips made an _O_ , breath coming out with the slightest hint of a whistle. He followed suit automatically; they had trained together with this, to the point where it was instinctual for him to copy her.

Regardless of what had happened, the way the two girls he cared for most had betrayed his confidence, his body still trusted Marinette. That wasn't fair either.

Adrien had no way to measure how many breaths it took before he was able to actually feel Marinette's hand, nor would he have cared to do so if he had been able. It was too many, and attaching a specific number would only make him feel guiltier than he already did. When he had finally returned to himself, rather than his usual relief and gratitude, that guilt flooded his chest, accompanied by a duller ache; the remnants of the realization that had landed him here were still wrapped around his ribcage, and though they had loosened their stranglehold, the weight refused to leave him.

It took him five attempts to force the truth from his mouth, to produce anything but silence; counting was no comfort, but he was compelled to keep track regardless. "She trusts you more than she trusts me," he finally mumbled, eyes dropping to his shoes. The orange clashed horribly with Marinette's pink capris.

"Huh?" Marinette sounded genuinely confused, but Adrien couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze yet; part of him screamed that it was better not to know for sure than to see deception in those eyes and suffer yet another blow to his trust. He couldn't take another one so soon.

Adrien's mind swam with words he wouldn't say, couldn't say- accusations, questions, pleas. He settled on a simple fact as the starting point. "She told you about me."

Marinette's hand stroked Adrien's shoulder, a soothing gesture despite the circumstances. As much as he wanted to recoil from her touch, to show her how upset he was, he was too weak not to take comfort in the contact. "I don't understand, Adrien. Who are you talking about?"

"Ladybug. Only she knew about the face." Adrien swallowed hard to quell the nausea that rose up to his throat at the admission, forcing himself to look up at his classmate. He had to find out the truth, but necessity didn't make the task any easier. "How much did she tell you?"

Those blue eyes went wide, blinking and darting from side to side. What little color remained in Marinette's cheeks fled; she chewed her lower lip as she weighed her words carefully. "I understand what you must be thinking, but I swear this isn't what it seems like-"

"Who am I? Other than Adrien." Under normal circumstances, he would never interrupt anyone like this, but his manners had deserted him; nothing else was important until he found the truth. "Do you know?"

Marinette opened her mouth, a reflexive denial ready on her tongue; Adrien had spent long enough telling those sorts of lies to spot them before they even came out. Before the words left her mouth, though, she clamped her mouth shut, fingers fisting in his shirt. A sigh inflated her body, and she nodded. "Yes, chaton, I know."

He stiffened. "You don't get to call me that. I don't care if she told you that name, only _she_  gets to call me cha-" He halted, throat tightening before could force out the other syllable. Would that pet name still sound like music coming from the lips of a partner who had betrayed him? "Why didn't she trust me?" The question escaped unbidden, the only person who knew the answer absent; still, regardless of the futility of his actions, he was oddly relieved to have it out in the open.

"How can you say that? Of course she trusts you."

Adrien gave his head a vehement shake. "She figured out who I am. She didn't even tell me she knew that, but she told you who I am _and_  what happens if someone hits my face. She trusts you a whole lot more than she trusts me." A laugh bordering on a sob wrenched itself from Adrien's gut. "Not that I blame her right now; I mean, look at me. Not exactly the poster child for mental stability. Did she tell you so you could both babysit me?"

Marinette's grip on his shoulder tightened, her mouth thinning to just the vaguest hint of a line. "Adrien, I promise you, this is really not what you think it is. There's something you're not seeing here."

"Then can you explain it to me? Because I'm try-" He trailed off again, swallowing against the lump in his throat. His vision was blurring with tears, but this time getting answers was more important than keeping up the facade. Marinette had seen him come apart at the seams already; what was one more bonus added to the breakdown? "I'm trying _really_  hard to believe she didn't just stab me right in the heart, but it sure feels like she did."

"I'm sorry," Marinette whispered, shifting to gather Adrien's head into the crook of her shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't apologize for her." Despite the saltwater streaming down his face, Adrien kept his voice firm. "I've spent too long saying I'm sorry for what other people do; what Ladybug did is _not_  your fault."

"I'm sorry, kitty," Marinette repeated, ignoring his protest. "If I had told you sooner, you wouldn't be hurting like this." Trembling fingers took hold of Adrien's hand, drawing it up along Marinette's cheek. He brushed through silky hair before his index finger bumped against something round at her earlobe. An electric current hummed through Adrien's body at the contact, an unmistakable sensation that he had first felt years ago when he had touched the ring he now wore night and day.

Marinette had a Miraculous.

Adrien's mouth fell open, a gasp escaping as he leaned back, blinking to dash the tears from his eyes. "M-my..." he stammered, unable to form the last word.

The look Marinette gave him was filled with so many things- affection, apology, happiness, and so much more. "Hey, chaton." Her voice was husky with unshed tears. "Your secret is still safe; it's just the two of us. I would never, _ever_  betray your trust like that, and I'm sorry you thought I did."

"...when?" It was all he could say, the only coherent thought he could pull from a brain in utter shock.

"When you mentioned panic attacks, it could have just been a coincidence, but all the other things that matched lined up for a minute, and I was absolutely sure. Then after I got home, it was like none of what had been so clear made sense anymore. I was still confused, even today; every time I tried to match the two sides of you up, things got... fuzzy. It's the magic, I think. I was going to just let it go, but then Nino was about to..." She gave a little shrug. "It was reflex, and then when I realized what I'd done, it all clicked into place, and I was too freaked out to make up an excuse."

A Mandarin expletive shot out of Adrien's mouth before he could stop it. "Nino! I forgot-"

"I gave him a mini-lecture on why slapping people isn't appropriate even as a joke, which bought some time, but he knows something is up, even if he doesn't know what." Marinette bit her lower lip, looking down. "I'm sorry; I did my best to salvage things, but you might want to tell him about... the not-miraculous stuff. It's good to have more than one person holding your safety net, y'know?"

He shot her a wry smile, sniffling away the last remnants of his tears. His brain and heart were adapting surprisingly well to this paradigm shift. "Up until about a minute ago, I thought I did."

Marinette's answering grin was shy, rueful, but there was a tiny twinkle in her eye. "Cat's out of the bag?"

Silence hung between them, green eyes blinking owlishly at blue ones, until Adrien let out a massive groan. "Do you know how long I was saving that one for our big reveal?"

"Oh no, what ever shall you do?" Marinette faked a swoon, the back of one hand going to her forehead. "Your most precious pun, stolen from your grasp! Treachery of the worst kind!"

A grin split Adrien's face. "Egads, perfidy most foul! Years of waiting, all for naught! Now I must travel back in time if I wish to reclaim what is rightfully mine!"

Marinette's snort was decidedly unladylike. "Yeah, no. I doubt Alix is gonna get akumatized again just so you can crack a bad pun."

"My lady, there are bad puns, and there are _exquisitely_  bad puns. Coming from you, it was bad, but from me? It would have been truly _paw_ -ful, well worth bending the laws of spacetime."

Cupping her face in both hands, Marinette grumbled out something largely incoherent. Adrien caught stray words- an _of course_ , something that sounded like _massive crash_ , followed by a very clear and well-enunciated _biggest dork in the universe_.

"Y'know, bugaboo, I think it's more effective to call me a dork when I can hear everything you're saying." Adrien stuck his tongue out for good measure.

Marinette let out a squeak of pure terror, face going nearly as red as her earrings. "I didn't mean it! I mean, I did, but not for you to hear it like that! I'm so sorry don't hate me I'll move to Tahiti and... uh..." She trailed off, head tilting to one side. "Wait, how much did you hear?"

Adrien shrugged. "Pretty much just the dork part."

He could practically hear the processor whirring in Marinette's head as she parsed this information. After a few moments, her blush dissipated, and she gave him a smile that was pure Ladybug. "Well, then, chaton, you caught everything that was important."

Clapping a hand to his chest, Adrien gasped. "Oh, my lady, you wound me so!"

"You'll live," she shot back. Her voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial tone. "Besides, I have it on good authority that dorky boys make the best friends and partners."

Sunlight bloomed in Adrien's chest, radiating out from his eyes. "I promise I'll do my very best to prove that." A memory called to him, and he tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully. "And... Marinette?"

Her sharp intake of breath was audible. "Y-yes, Adrien?"

"Pleased to meet you, Awkward Girl." He reached a tentative hand out to brush against her cheek. "You are every bit as wonderful without the mask as I imagined you would be."

Marinette's rib-crushing hug came as less of a surprise this time, but it still left him breathless for more reasons than one.


	4. The Kenny Loggins Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things appear much different from the outside; Alya and Nino have an important discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is somewhat different, in that it's from Alya's point of view, and she hasn't been let into the loop regarding Adrien's anxiety. Also important to note is that her "voice," as it were, with its multitude of italics and strikethroughs, is cribbed from another wonderful author on here, but I'm having trouble remembering who it was... if anyone can point me in the direction of the author in question, I'd be glad to tip the hat.

Nino, for all his minor faults as a boyfriend, made up for every shortcoming several times over by virtue of his kisses.

The boy knew just how to make Alya melt, though she would never ask where he learned, avoided the thought whenever it surfaced. Little pecks to test, to tease, to draw her into the deep and lingering touches, the occasional sweep of a tongue mere punctuation in this heartfelt conversation. Hands swept over her, everywhere they needed to be and only nearing the taboo just often enough to thrill, never to irritate or pressure her. Even his _breath_  seemed to fall just so, on her face and neck and _good God her ears_...

If ever Alya had considered herself eloquent in this language, then her boyfriend was a poet born. And she would let him captivate her with his verses, regaling him in turn with her own attempts, for as long as he was willing to continue.

One hand carded through her hair, fingernails just long enough to scratch against her scalp and send her eyes fluttering shut once more. The other hand took hold of her chin ever so gently to guide, never to control, bringing her face up to meet his at a new angle that sent a little thrill into her lower back. Another hand tapped a finger against her shoulder three times, then paused, then gave another three taps. It was an unorthodox move, and not a favorite, but so long as Nino continued the rest of his ministrations, Alya could overlook...

Her eyes snapped open, righteous fury simmering red-gold. She could overlook a great many things, but the fact that Nino only had two hands, both of which were engaged in activities _not_  involving tapping, was not among them.

Whoever the presumptuous owner of that third hand was, they were about to be left with a smoking stump unless there was a _fantastically_  good reason for the interruption. Even Marinette would be getting a piece of Alya's mind if this was just one of her minor Adrien freakouts.

As Alya whirled to face the interloper, a stream of carefully curated profanity ready on her tongue, she froze in place as though she'd been hit by one of her Akumatized self's projectiles.

The Ladyblogger and former Lady Wifi was no stranger to the surreal; years of racing after villains whose motifs gave Dadaism a run for its money had left her largely jaded to disruptions in the natural order of things. She had even _been_  one of said disruptions, and had come to terms with that fact quickly enough. That said, there were certain things she regarded as constants: for example, Chloe Bourgeois was an irredeemable harpy, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the most lovable klutz in the universe, and Adrien Agreste was sweet and polite beyond all reasonable expectation.

Hence, the Ladyblogger was understandably befuddled when she beheld that the source of the most unforgivable interruption in the history of interruptions was that very same perpetually sweet, polite boy.

"Adrien? You, uh, wait, I was... huh?" Apparently Alya was taking a leaf from Marinette's book when it came to Adrien-related conversation openers.

"Sorry, Alya, I'm really sorry," Adrien babbled, scarcely pausing between words, "I just need to talk to Nino for a second, sorry."

Nino's face was the very picture of studied neutrality; for someone who usually lit up like the Louvre pyramid whenever Adrien was around, that impassive of an expression was the equivalent of a growl. "What can I do for you, bro?" he managed.

Adrien cringed; at least he understood he was interrupting, so Alya could rule out general obliviousness as the cause. "I was just, uh, wondering about that remix. The, um, the..." He paused, chewing at his lip as though searching for something. Not once had he made eye contact with either of them, instead staring off into the distance. "The Ken guy."

Alya's left eye twitched.

Just as she opened her mouth to give Adrien an explicit and very short list of acceptable reasons to interrupt a mind-blowing makeout session-- which did _not_  include asking about music-- she saw Nino take hold of Adrien's shoulder. Alya could let her boyfriend bring the wayward sunshine child back in line. All she had to do was wait for him to say--

"You mean the Kenny Loggins one?"

...Something that was definitely _not_  what just came out of Nino's mouth. ~~By her reckoning, she would be totally justified in murdering them both at this point.~~

"Kenny Loggins!" Adrien practically yelled the name, then shrank back and tried again in a more subdued tone. "Yeah, Kenny Loggins."

"Okay, _so_ , now that you remember the name," Alya said in a voice of honey-coated steel, "You can--"

"Got it right here, dude." Nino patted his backpack even as he shot a strange glance at Alya and mouthed the word _please_. "Sorry, babe, but I gotta put things on pause and take a minute of best bro time. This shouldn't take too long, okay?"

Okay? No, there was no possible way this was okay. In fact, it screamed suspicious behavior like nothing else Nino had ever done. Still, Alya obviously wasn't welcome here, and the romance she and Nino had been stoking had just been extinguished beyond hope of rescue. Biting her lip, she nodded once. "I'll... I'll be over there." A leaden hand motioned to her left, not really caring what seating options she found in that general direction; it was hard enough not screaming, harder still not letting her eyes well up as she turned and stumbled away, each step jarring as the blood roared in her ears.

She had to keep it together. If not for herself, then for Ladybug. The theory that a person could only be akumatized once was just that-- a theory, impossible to prove with the resources she had.

There was a tree some distance away. She let herself slide down the trunk, heedless of the splinters the bark left in her shirt, her back. Nino and Adrien were still well within eyeshot from here; she couldn't bring herself to look away as her boyfriend placed his treasured headphones over Adrien's ears and pressed play on his phone.

She'd bought him those headphones for his birthday not too long ago ~~and he hadn't yet put them on her ears like that~~

It was nothing. Adrien didn't have many close friends; of course he gravitated toward Nino, of course he leaned sideways to rest his head on Nino's shoulder, of _course_  Nino brought his arm around Adrien, almost as though they were a couple.

As though Alya didn't exist.

Her phone. There was bound to be something on the Ladyblog. She'd ignored the buzzing because she'd been busy with Nino, but now ~~he was with someone more important~~

In any case, now she could check the notifications.

For a few minutes, there was only the Ladyblog. For a few blessed minutes, she didn't look up once. And then she did, and the crack in her world spread to a full-blown fissure.

It was coincidence, nothing more, that she glanced at them just in time to see Nino's lips form her name-- a coincidence that sent a dagger into her gut as Adrien's face twisted in apprehension. Just as green eyes drifted to where she sat, Alya snapped her gaze back to her phone, willing the screen to come into focus despite the haze clouding her vision.

Just scrolling though the Ladyblog-- that's all she was doing. Nothing more, not spying on her boyfriend and his best friend as they talked about her in ways that made said best friend nervous ~~for reasons that made her gut wrench and her throat clench and~~

None of her business. Even if they _had_  mentioned her, it wasn't like she could bring that fact up to Nino; they'd asked for privacy, and it was her own fault that she'd sat within full view of them, her fault that she'd looked. Besides, she could trust her boyfriend. She could trust Adrien, too. She was sure of it, as sure as she was of anything...

Then why was she trying so desperately to convince herself of that?

Lost in her struggles with these invasive, unwanted thoughts, Alya failed to register the presence at her side until a familiar arm slipped around her waist. "Hey, babe," Nino murmured. "You okay?"

"I'm okay," she blurted, flicking her thumb to keep her phone scrolling before it dawned on her that her screen was black, asleep from inactivity. She swallowed, hoping Nino wouldn't _(would, please would)_ catch her slip-up.

The slow intake of breath and slightly pained exhalation beside her was answer enough as to whether he had noticed. His hand withdrew from her side and dipped under his shirt even as the other removed his glasses; Nino never polished his glasses unless he was nervous.

~~Nino had something to be nervous about~~

No, Nino had told her after their last fight that _she_  made him nervous, that she jumped to conclusions and never gave him time to explain. She'd promised to try to trust him, to give him a chance.

"Talk to me, babe. What's going on?"

Swallowing was painful, but the alternative was throwing up. One, two deep breaths, and the words came out. "I'm trying really hard to do what I promised, but I could use a good explanation right about now."

Nino's lips were on hers in the space of a heartbeat, and for the first time since they had started dating, Alya pushed him away. "Sorry!" he yelped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get carried away... it's just..." A little sigh, and he collected himself, eyes shining brilliantly even behind his glasses. "You're doing it. _We're_  doing it. We can make this work if we communicate, and I'm just... thank you, babe."

"Okay," Alya said, tight-lipped to keep composure in the face of her demons. "Explain, though?"

"All right," Nino said, palm rubbing against Alya's back in what was probably meant to be a soothing gesture; it just made the knots in her stomach ache worse, made the suspicions scream louder. "Do you want me to start from the beginning, or do you want to tell me from your point of view and let me fill in the blanks?"

The reins frayed; the beasts surged forward before Alya could fully restrain them, but they didn't break free. ~~Yet.~~  "Whichever way ends up with you telling me why you dropped everything you were doing-- _we_  were doing--just so that Adrien could listen to a remix you've never shown me or even told me about?" She screwed her eyes shut and turned away, mouthing an expletive. "Sorry, that came out all wrong. I didn't..." She trailed off with a lump forming in her throat, unsure of how to complete that sentence without it being a lie. She _had_  meant it, had meant on some level to accuse him of things she knew nothing about, had lashed out despite her promise ~~she'd broken her promise~~

"It's okay," Nino said, one finger finding its way to her chin and pulling gently before releasing, his message clear; he was asking her to look at him, but not forcing the issue. He was letting her decide as always, patient and kind and caring as always ~~and she didn't deserve it~~  "We didn't promise to be perfect, babe. We promised to try. And now that I know what's bothering you, I can explain. Are you willing to listen?"

When she managed to look up, there was no guilt or nervousness in those brown eyes she adored. He wasn't hiding anything from her. Swallowing back a sob, she nodded.

With a gentle smile, Nino held up his headphones. "There's a reason you've never heard about the Kenny Loggins remix. Do you wanna hear what I played for him?" At her nod, he slowly, almost reverently, brushed the hair back behind Alya's ears and placed the headphones atop her head. A moment later, he pressed a button on his phone, and strange sounds filled the air around her.

The song, if it could be called such, was largely white noise, low and high and midtones of synthesizers swirling together in a soothing rhythm. It was almost hypnotic, and Alya found her eyes drifting closed of their own accord, before a familiar voice filtered through the waves. "It's okay. You're okay. Just concentrate on my voice and breathe with me. In... out... in... out... good, stay with me."

"Marinette?" Alya's voice was muddled in her own ears, and she pulled the headphones off to stare at Nino in confusion. "What is this?"

The corner of Nino's mouth quirked upwards. "Some sick anti-panic-attack jams?"

Given the right framework, a dozen details about Adrien's behavior slid into place: the interruption, the rapid speech, the lack of eye contact, the fumbling for the right word, Nino's split-second change in demeanor when he figured it out, and more. It all made sense... and it brought a wave of hot and freezing shame washing down Alya's shoulders. Adrien had been suffering right in front of her, _literally_  sending out a distress signal, and she'd been too busy with her tantrum to even--

"Hey, _heyyy_ , no." Nino's tone was gentle, but it brooked no argument. "This is not on you. The only people who knew were me and Marinette. Now Adrien's trusting you with it too."

Alya made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. "But I should have--"

"Babe, the whole point of a secret is that people _don't_  know it. Like, I'm pretty sure that's in the definition. I didn't find out until a month or so back, and that was only because I gave the dude a panic attack myself." Nino's smile was rueful. "Kinda hard to keep it under wraps at that point, but even then, he still tried."

"So then... Kenny Loggins..." she trailed off, not entirely sure where the thought was going but trusting her boyfriend to follow along and help her complete it.

"Is a code word for us," Nino supplied. "Heck, I doubt Adrien's ever even heard the song it's referencing."

Alya rooted around in her memory, fumbling through all the musical trivia Nino had regaled her with in their months together. There was something about screaming guitars and an American movie with airplanes, but she couldn't quite grab onto the thought. With a sigh, she typed Kenny Loggins into her phone's search bar. Before she had even finished the name, though, one of the suggested results made her pause, blinking like an owl, before a slightly hysterical snort shot from her nose. "Oh my god, you are the biggest dork in the world."

"You know that means you're _dating_  the biggest dork in the world, right?" Nino's grin was a mixture of mirth and relief, and it brought the situation they were in slamming back into Alya's gut.

"You're... you're sure you still..." Alya choked mid-sentence, swallowing in a vain attempt to rid her throat of its lump. "Even after I went crazy on you, you're not... leaving me?"

"Babe?" Nino's fingers caressed her cheek, drawing her eyes to his. "We beat this monster, and I think we just leveled up. And for the record, the only way I want to leave you... is breathless." With that, he leaned in, pressing their lips together.

It took Alya several aborted attempts, two apologies, and at least one mumbled _dork_  before she was finally able to return her boyfriend's kiss in earnest without laughing or crying or something in between... but that was okay. He understood.

And they had plenty more kisses waiting for them to claim at their leisure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siwpn14IE7E  
> Yes, *that* Kenny Loggins song.   
> (Puts on gigantic sunglasses and flies off into the sunset)


End file.
